


Autumn Holiday

by Aithilin



Series: Festive Food Fluffs [15]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Autumn, Cafe dates, Fluff, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 17:06:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16141685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: Nyx feels like he hasn't been home in ages, and on a Galahdian holiday he takes Noctis out for a date.





	Autumn Holiday

**Author's Note:**

> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Aithilin)

“I’m pretty sure you’re required to tell me where we’re going.”

Autumn was late in reaching the heart of Insomnia. The colours crept forward from the cooler northern districts, announced by first frosts on the morning windows and the appearance of heavier jackets and sweaters that were shed at commuters reached their workplaces closer to the industrial heart of the Crown City. It would be weeks before the season was recognised along the avenues leading to the Citadel, and the farms and forests towards the southern fortifications. It would be weeks before the Citadel gardens’ summer blooms were pruned and cleared before the frost could break the fragile petals and crack the soft summer leaves.

It would take weeks before the chill clawed its way through the city’s streets and avenues. Morning windows covered in the tendrils of ice the northern districts had already lost to the first snows. 

“Are you going to accuse me of kidnapping you?”

“It’s a serious charge, hero.”

Nyx had spent days trying to plan this date. 

It was a holiday in Galahd.

It was an important moment in his hometown— an air of gratitude used to engulf the community after the first “harvest” though it had been decades since anyone really relied on the local farms. He still remembered the festivals from his youth, the parties hosted in the few years he had the bar. 

It wasn’t a holiday that seemed to be replicated in Lucian culture. 

“I’m sure you can guess where we’re going.”

Like most of the holidays in Galahd, tradition dictated that families gather together. There was an expectation of a feast, a host overworked and smiling through the ordeal, or gifts of food and shared wealth passed around. And like most traditions in Galahd, such gatherings— such families, cobbled together in the remnants of a war and exodus— were wary of outsiders. Wary of strangers’ eyes watching and misunderstanding the festivities for frivolities. Wary of the Lucian commercial sensibilities digging claws and hooks and dragging feast days and traditions into what they considered the true marks of civilisation. 

In Galahd, the parks he was leading Noctis through— empty in the cold morning air and made colourful by the changing leaves— would have been prepared already. There would have been tables and streamers, family banners and stalls. He remembered the chocobo and garula paddocks in his childhood— the hay rides and races through the fair grounds. 

In Lucis, the cold drove people inside. Even the Galahdians shielding their culture. 

There would be a dinner later in the day— when the bonfires would have raged in his hometown. 

“With that look, I’d say you’re taking me somewhere to kill me.”

“What?”

“You look sad.”

“I’m not.” Nyx offered a grin in response, as proof. He slipped his hand around Noctis’ and swung their arms as if to show that he was fine. “Just thinking.”

It was a holiday in Galahd. One where families gathered in relief for surviving another year. Before the tentative peace treaties and military withdrawals, it had meant more. People were always more thankful for family in times of war. 

“About?”

Noctis was not prepared for the slow shift in weather from district to district. Nyx had tried to warn him before they left the gilded Citadel halls and overheated conference rooms. He had tried to suggest a heavier coat, than the light summer jacket Noctis had slipped on. A sweater rather than the light shirt. 

“I’m going to do something very, very stupid later today.”

“I’m not surprised.” Noctis grinned in response to the admonishing tug to his hand. “Is it dangerous.”

“It might be, if you don’t behave.”

“How am I involved in you doing something stupid?”

Libertus always hosted the family dinners. It was a point of rivalry back home. Ulric hospitality versus Ostium hospitality. There would be pies baked out of spite for someone else’s hard work in creating the year’s feast. 

This year was no different. It had already been planned. The arguments had already played out between them all over who was bringing what dish and who was making what dessert. They had already decided, as a family, on all the drama that would surface during their feasts. 

Nyx hadn’t warned them that he was bringing Noctis. 

“Because you’re coming to dinner with me, little star.”

“Lunch and dinner? You’re going to spoil me.”

“Shut up. This is an important dinner.”

“Why?”

“It’s… I’ll explain it later.” 

Libertus was going to be pissed. 

The sun of the Citadel avenues had clouded over with steel grey overcast. The tinge of golden light, the shimmering wash of the Wall moved beyond the grey skies. The change in the leaves, the grass, the air, was more vivid in the autumn light that had crept in through this portion of the city. This little sliver that felt almost like home as Nyx felt the air cool around them with every gust of wind washed across the browned grasses of the park. 

“So it’s not important,” Noctis said, and Nyx smiled as the prince pulled away enough to step on the crisp leaves that blew across the narrow path. “Or you would be telling me now. Not taking me off to some… diner?”

“I’m not taking you to a diner.”

“Restaurant.”

“That’s the same thing.”

“Don’t let Specs hear that,” another leaf crushed beneath the prince’s boot, childish smile at the noise playing on his lips; “or you’ll have to sit through a lecture on the definition of an eatery. He has one. It’s terrifying.”

“Do I want to know how you know?”

“No. Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I hate surprises.”

“You love them.”

The further from the Citadel they got, the more comfortable Nyx became. He could admire the weather— the cool air and bluster of autumn winds— the bright colours bleeding their way across the trees and bushes, the promise of heat and warmth seeping out to the street with every shop passed once they had left the park that had cut across the avenues and roads. They were far enough away from the centre of the city now that the Citadel was only peeking over the other buildings, that the long shadow of the throne had finally been escaped in the mid-morning walks. He had stolen Noctis from that shadow early; had secreted the prince, laughing at the new game, down to the subway tunnels where the trains leading to their destination would be nearly empty in the morning commute. 

Nyx had been granted an extended leave for the holiday. 

The look of exasperation on Ignis face as he showed up in jeans and a comfortable sweater, a scarf wrapped around his throat, had been worth it. They had been waved off before any permission was asked. Before any explanation was given. Before Ignis could do anything more than promise to make excuses for Noctis’ disappearance. 

The streets were always busy, despite the chill and area and time of day. The awnings of every storefront, windowsill, and walkway had collected the leaves blown across half the city, scattered them in little whilrwinds of orange and red and yellow as people walked. As traffic carried the intruding seasonal shift with them in their wake. The leaves curled up around them, and Noctis grinned as he hopped into a dry gutter to a satisfying crunch as they waited for a light to change. 

The cafe Nyx had in mind catered to everyone. It served Lucian and Nif coffees, spiced teas from Cavaugh, floral teas from Tenebrae. And ciders from Galahd. 

It’s heat poured into the street as Nyx tugged the door open, the bells chiming overhead as he ushered Noctis into the warmth. He had finally released the prince’s hand to get him inside, to guide him to a familiar table tucked away in the corner of the shop. He offered a grin to the barista restocking pastries at the counter, and settled Noctis into the seat with a quick peck to his cheek. 

“No peeking.” 

“This counts as a restaurant, hero.”

“No it doesn’t,” Nyx pulled his scarf off to drape it across the back of his own claimed chair, breathing easier in the familiar steam of baked goods and heated drinks. “It’s clearly a cafe.”

“Bistro.” 

Nyx ignored the petty correction called after him as he approached the counter, already eyeing up the assortment of tarts and treats just placed beneath the decorated glass of the display case. He could see the delicate Tenebrean apples, sliced almost paper thin in their tarts and sprinkled with cinnamons and sugars. He recognised the lines of twisted sweet breads from Accordo, each stuffed or drizzled with a different flavour to tempt those willing to try the soft and flaky breads. He spotted fresh biscuits from Cavaugh and it’s provinces, the savoury offerings paired with meats and cheeses and a more tart taste. 

And then there were the pastries of Galahd. The vibrant, familiar tarts he knew better in over sized pies. The savoury roots and squashes sweetened to a dessert, the tart berries paired with sour fruits candied to an overstimulating sweetness. He knew each and every offering of cake and cookie and treat, and knew that his sister would have his hide for even thinking of buying something he could bake with his eyes closed. 

But Selena was back home, and likely harassing his mother for control of the kitchen. 

So he placed his order and chanced a glance back to Noctis at the table. The fond, soft grin that met him was matched in kind, and he wondered why it felt like he had been away for longer than his standard patrol. Steam curled from his spiced cider, and he breathed the familiar scent deep. It was like coming home. 

“Have a good Thanksgiving,” the barista smiled to him, tray laden with his chosen tarts, still warm from the ovens, and the latte ordered for Noctis trapped beneath a generous helping of whipped cream. 

“You too,” Nyx returned, beaming to Noctis as he set the tray between them. He had kept things simple and safe for now; apple tarts and warm drinks. 

Noctis reached for the cider for a sip first, cheeky grin offered to the roll of Nyx’s eyes.


End file.
